She presented her Sunagakure identification papers and received a permit to enter Konoha.
While their alliance was primarily a check against other nations, the villages of Sand and Leaf were, for all intents and purposes, allies. Shinobi from either side were forbidden from coming and going as they pleased, but for civilians, entering the other's village wasn't difficult, provided they followed the official procedures.
Acting as a smith from Sunagakure who had come to sell ninja tools to Konoha shinobi, she loaded the swords from her scroll onto a pushcart and walked through the village.
However, these weren't the masterpieces she normally sold in the Sand. They were just standard-issue items she had procured from a Suna tool shop specifically for this trip to Konoha.
—She could have forged them herself, but the thought of intentionally creating inferior blades was something she simply couldn't stomach. This was her only option.
In any case, she was finally inside Konoha. A wave of emotion washed over her as she recalled the trials and tribulations it had taken to get here.
From nearly dying in the desert to spotting a Mist shinobi in a small country along the way and being forced to lay low... it had been one disaster after another, but she had finally made it.
Only one problem remained—what kind of person was Kakashi Hatake?
She knew nothing about her target. And given her official status as a visitor from Sunagakure, it was too dangerous to go around asking questions.
She now regretted not getting more details from that shinobi back in the Sand... but, on second thought, there was no need to worry.
All she had to do was follow her memory—the scent of iron and blood wafting from the Decapitating Carving Knife, the "Kubikiribōchō," which Zabuza had carried when he visited her family's smithy years ago.
She closed her eyes, honing her senses. Just like that, she could recall the scent of his blade as clearly as the smell of her own forge.
...And yet, it had no effect whatsoever.
Strange. In the past, that was all it took to know Zabuza had come to the shop. Why can't I find it?
Have my senses dulled? I can't smell the Kubikiribōchō at all... only the delicious aroma coming from a nearby ramen shop. ...She was hungry.
"Come to think of it, he might be on a mission... I'll wait."
She knew being a shinobi was a busy job. Actively searching for Kakashi Hatake would be difficult given her position. It would be better to avoid the risk, stay in the village for a while, and wait until she could catch the scent of the Kubikiribōchō.
Having reached that conclusion, her next move was simple.
"Welcome!"
She parked her cart out of the way and entered the ramen shop. There weren't many seats, but luckily, she had come slightly after the main lunch rush, so the place was empty.
As she sat, the rich aroma tickled her nose. It was the smell of ramen, a scent that must not be in high demand in the Land of Sand's desert. She hadn't smelled it since leaving the Land of Water, and it made her think of home.
"Um... seafood ramen, and water, please."
"Ah, sorry, missy. We don't have any seafood ramen here."
She had unconsciously ordered the most popular type from her homeland. She felt a twinge of embarrassment, but the woman who handed her a menu did so with such a bright smile that she immediately felt at ease.
"Um... then, I'll have this one..."
"You got it!"
She picked an item written in bold—probably the shop's recommendation—and a gruff, powerful voice from the man who seemed to be the owner rang out.
—Her father used to have a voice like that when he talked to customers, back before their mother was killed and he fell apart. She wondered why this simple ramen shop kept making her think of home. Her expression, which people said never moved unless she was thinking about swords, softened into a faint smile.
"Say, missy, I haven't seen your face before. You a traveler?"
"...A merchant. I came from the Land of Wind to sell swords."
"From the Land of Sand!? That's a long way for someone so young!"
With no other customers, the owner was happy to chat. But even as he talked, his movements were perfectly efficient. The ramen was coming together at an astonishing speed.
—That's not just a cook! Those are the movements of a master artisan!
She felt a deep respect for the shop owner. Though their fields were different, he was clearly a fellow artisan who stood at the pinnacle that only one who has dedicated their entire being to their craft can reach.
"Hey! One large Miso Chashu Pork ramen, comin' up!"
The ramen was placed on the counter with a solid thud. His movements were flawless—no thumb slipping into the broth—a perfect, confident delivery that asserted the bowl's presence.
She snapped her chopsticks and immediately took a bite.
The overwhelming flavor that exploded in her mouth spoke of the countless days of dedication this man had endured. A single word, filled with emotion, escaped her.
"—Magnificent..."
The chopsticks moved astonishingly fast as she savored the supreme flavor, moved by her encounter with the man who created it. To have such an experience so soon after arriving in Konoha—she must have built up some good karma.
"Glad you like it. By the way, I wanted to ask—you're an artisan, aren't you? And probably a swordsmith from the Land of Water."
"—!? How!?"
The owner's words stopped her chopsticks cold. She felt a chill run through her, as if doused with ice water.
She had clenched her fist unconsciously. The owner pointed at it.
"Your hands. They've got a lot of burn scars and calluses. Those are the hands of an artisan who works with fire and a hammer."
"...I'm from the Land of Wind—"
"Folks from the Land of Wind don't order seafood ramen without even lookin' at the menu."
"—I surrender. I underestimated you..."
It seemed what she had accumulated wasn't good karma, but blunders. She had never given to charity that she could recall. To think she'd be found out not by a shinobi, but by a ramen shop owner. The world, she was learning, was far more complex and bizarre than a 15-year-old could imagine.
"Well, it'll be a pain if the shinobi find you out. You'd better be careful."
"...? You're not going to do anything?"
"Well, you don't seem to be here to cause trouble. You don't get 'artisan's hands' like those unless you're completely devoted to a single purpose, right?"
"...I'm no match for you."
"Of course. I don't know what kind of artisan you are, but I've got more years on me, so I've got seniority."
She had thought he was a master artisan, but it was clear now that his depth as a person was just as great. As he laughed heartily, she was struck by how much larger he was than her—a girl who had no skills at all, save for forging swords.
"—So, missy, what brings you to Konoha?"
"...I am from the Land of Water, but it's true I came from the Land of Wind. It's also... partially true... that I'm here to sell swords. —But the real reason is I'm looking for someone. There's a person in this village who has an incredible masterpiece, and I came because I want to see it, even just for a moment."
"Now that's some serious artisan spirit. Who is it?"
"A shinobi named Kakashi Hatake. Apparently, he's famous among shinobi, but I don't know him."
She had hesitated to tell him the real reason, but a strange intuition told her it was safe. When she spoke the name, the owner's eyes went wide in surprise.
"Kakashi? He's the teacher of one of my regulars. If you want, I can talk to his student for you."
"Yes, please!"
Is this man a god? Or a saint?
She shot to her feet and bowed deeply. She never could have expected this—perhaps she had unknowingly built up a great deal of good karma after all.
"Alright, come back here the day after tomorrow, around noon. I should have an answer for you by then on whether he'll meet you."
"Thank you. —I won't forget this kindness."
"Sure... In that case, how about you make me a fine kitchen knife someday?"
He wasn't being modest; his words acknowledged her as a fellow artisan. She felt a warmth spread in her chest and nodded deeply.
She would forge him a masterpiece greater than the Kubikiribōchō itself—no, wait, calm down. He wouldn't need something that huge. She would dedicate herself to forging him a conventional, but absolutely perfect, kitchen knife. With that vow, she left the shop.
After Murasame left, Teuchi, the owner of Ichiraku, felt refreshed from his talk with the young but dedicated artisan. He and his daughter Ayame began cleaning the dishes.
A conversation between artisans was a good thing, even if their paths were different. But as he thought this, one small thing bothered him.
"That guy... I don't remember him ever carryin' a fancy sword like that."
The girl's target, Kakashi Hatake, was the teacher of his regulars. He'd come by in the old days, and even more often recently with his students... but Teuchi couldn't recall him ever carrying a sword. He was puzzled.
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